


No Buts

by PuppiesRainbowsSadism



Category: Criminal Minds, Supernatural
Genre: Dysphoria, FTM Reid, FTM Sam, First Kiss, M/M, Other, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 19:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5017675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppiesRainbowsSadism/pseuds/PuppiesRainbowsSadism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Reid kissed for the first (and second) time after a ghoul hunt, surrounded by corpses and covered in blood. And it was about fucking time too. But when kisses three and four lead to light petting, Sam panics. He hasn't even remotely transitioned, he's not out, and Reid is straight . . . right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Buts

Sam knew he had a lot in common with Spencer Reid. They were both intellectual, could read people like books (although, truth be told, Sam was better at handling that information), were passionate about the same things.

And they both had been avoiding their affection for each other like the plague.

Reid is a genius, and he’s not subtle. It wasn’t difficult for either of them to realise that their attraction was mutual. But they both worked dangerous jobs, both had some seriously bad experiences with girlfriends, and they were scared. Either one of them could die at any time -- as evidenced by Jess and Madison and Maeve -- and neither of them thought they could handle that.

(But, of course, there’s that other fear, isn’t there? The one that’s always there, especially when Jess and Madison and Maeve come to mind.)

Besides, it was just impractical. Just because Reid knew about the supernatural and sometimes even found them cases (just as Sam called Reid when a case turned out to be Not Their Thing), didn’t mean his teammates, or the BAU, or the FBI knew about any of it. And Sam and Dean really needed to stay out of the way of the FBI anyway. And it’s not like they saw each other that often. They kept in contact through text and phone calls, but more often than not, one or both of them were across the country. Reid having time to drop by the bunker was a rare luxury.

But, as these things go, the tension has to snap at some point, for better or for worse. Their paths crossed on a ghoul case. Reid was not the best with a gun, but he was enough of a distraction that Sam could break free of the rope they were wrapping him in and do his job.

He was covered in blood, panting heavily, muttering “Fucking hate ghouls,” when Reid appeared at his side, checking for injuries, bite marks, rope burn, anything.

“I’m fine,” Sam assured. “None of the blood is mine.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because the ghouls didn’t have a chance to even get me down. You arrived just in time. My hero.”

Sam meant for it to be teasing, sarcastic, but it came out flirtatious and they both froze.

The next instant, Reid was standing right in front of Sam, cradling his jaw like it might be broken, and kissing him tentatively. It was good. It made Sam’s heart go a-flutter or whatever, but he was too surprised to kiss back.

Reid was fast and stealthy. When Sam could focus again, he was almost on the other side of the room, backing away slowly with his hands raised in the universal sign for _I am not a threat_.

He was apologising over and over, so rapidly that Sam could barely understand him.

Sam caught up to him in three strides, catching Reid’s forearm and pulling him close for another kiss, one that Sam actually participated in this time. It was sweet and relatively chaste but it still lit him up like fireworks.

Footsteps down the basement stairs quickly dragged Sam back to reality, and he pushed away from Reid just as Dean rounded the corner with his gun drawn, obviously looking for a threat but, finding none, relaxing.

“You took them all out by yourself?” Dean asked, more than just a hint of disbelief in his voice.

“Reid helped,” Sam admitted, nodding towards their friend, who was trembling just ever so slightly.

“Nice,” Dean praised, genuinely impressed. “But, uh, I think it’s time we torched the place and got back to the motel. Boy genius,” he added towards Reid, “you’d better come with us. Clean up a little and think of a good cover story.”

Reid nodded silently and pushed past Dean to get to the stairs.

“What’s up with him?”

“The ghouls freaked him out,” Sam lied easily. “He’s not exactly fond of the cannibalism cases, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Dean scoffed, “I know. Whatever. As long as he doesn’t get puke on my car.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just -- let’s get out of here.”

“Sounds good to me. Spread the salt and I’ll strike the match.”

Sam did his job as quickly as he could and dashed up the stairs himself, making a beeline towards Reid, who was clutching his jacket close and still shivering.

“Hey. You okay?” _Wow, how eloquent, Sam. You just kissed Spencer fucking Reid over a bunch of corpses and all you’ve got is ‘you okay’?”_

“Fine,” Reid answered shortly, but not irritably. “I’ve seen stuff like this before.”

“No you haven’t.”

“I’ve seen stuff _like_ this before. For some reason, it’s more unsettling when it’s . . . not people. Eating the people.”

Sam nodded. Yeah, having been caught by ghouls more than once, he’d confidently say he’d prefer actual human cannibalism rather than being eaten alive.

When the first wafts of smoke reached them, Sam helped Reid climb into the back of the impala. He considered climbing in with him, but with Dean jogging on his way back, Sam didn’t have much time to think. He closed the door on Reid with an apologetic look and slid into the passenger seat just before Dean jumped behind the wheel and burned rubber.

“Sammy, you should get the first shower,” Dean said as they pulled into a parking space in front of their room. “You’ve earned it.”

Sam looked at Dean as if he’d grown two heads.

“ _What?_ You took out all the ghouls with one hand behind your back. Just take it while you can get it. You too, Dr. Howser,” he aimed towards the backseat, trying to catch Reid’s eyes. “You apparently helped.”

“He can’t shower, Dean,” Sam reminded him, climbing out of the car and heading straight for their room before Dean changed his mind. “It’ll look suspicious if he came out of there squeaky clean.”

Dean wrinkled his nose and started shedding layers as soon as the door was closed. “Fine, but I’m not driving him back there covered in goblin goop.”

Sam rolled his eyes. Neither of them were even that bloody.

“Reid,” he said, starting to shed layers himself, leaving his dirty jacket and flannel and boots in a pile on the floor. Reid looked up from where he was standing awkwardly, spaced out in the corner of the room. “Is it okay if I walk you down to a payphone back down the road? I mean, will your coworkers question it?”

Reid sat in silence for a moment, pursing his lips in thought. The lips that Sam had kissed. Twice.

“It should be okay,” he answered. “They won’t let me investigate alone for a while, but -- “

“You shouldn’t be out there alone, period,” Dean scoffed, and Sam was apologetic, but not hesitant, to agree.

“It’ll be okay,” Reid repeated, a little irritably. “Sam, go take your shower. We can leave when you’re ready.”

Sam hesitated. Reid was obviously upset, and if nothing else, he wanted to discuss what happened. But not in front of Dean, definitely not in front of Dean, so he bit his tongue and took the first shower. Scalding hot -- just like he liked it -- and quick. Even though he offered the shower, Sam knew Dean would bitch if he took all the hot water.

He realised belatedly that he didn’t bring any fresh clothes in with him and sighed, wrapping a towel around himself and cracking the door open just enough to ask Dean for a change of clothes. Sam didn’t even care what it was, as long as it was comfortable. He slipped on the tank top and sleep shorts gratefully, wrapping his hair in the towel before exiting with a small trail of steam.

Okay. He was clean. He was comfortable. His head had cleared a little, so when Dean immediately occupied the bathroom, Sam turned to Reid.

Reid was still standing in the corner, purposefully not looking at Sam, his cheeks a little flushed.

Sam’s heart sank. This was the part where Reid got pissed, wasn’t it? This was the part where Reid got pissed and Sam got hurt and their friendship was destroyed, and Sam would let his only real friend in the world walk away.

“Reid?”

He cleared his throat, still refusing to look up. “Yes?”

Well, all or nothing. Sam stepped forward and rested a comforting hand on Reid’s shoulder, trying to ignore how he flinched at the touch.

“Spence,” Sam muttered the nickname he’d only used once or twice before and was pleased when Reid’s eyes glanced up for just a second. “C’mon, we have about fifteen minutes before Dean gets out of the shower. Maybe a little longer. We need to talk.”

Reid opened and closed his mouth several times before finally choking out, “I -- I . . . “ he straightened his posture, his eyes flitting from Sam’s face to the side and back again. Then he said, unwaveringly, “Sam, can I kiss you? Again, I mean?”

If Sam’s skin weren’t already flushed from the hot shower, he knew he’d probably be blushing. Not that he was some -- some inexperienced preteen or something, but this was Reid. Spencer fucking Reid whom he kissed over the corpses of a family of ghouls. No matter what happened now, Sam would always treasure that memory.

(But there’s always that fear, isn’t there? Reid didn’t talk much about Maeve just like Sam didn’t talk much about his previous partners, but he made assumptions. Educated guesses. Conclusions that hurt, but this was _Reid._ Sam had never wanted anyone more since . . . well, since Jess.)

“Y-yeah,” Sam stuttered out, berating himself for letting his voice break, but then Reid’s lips were on his, and it didn’t matter so much anymore.

Reid was a gentleman. Sam knew that much, so he wasn’t surprised that the kiss was just a sweet little press of lips. But when Reid pulled away, Sam couldn’t help himself. Go big or go home. If this bit him in the ass, so be it. He wrapped his fingers in Reid’s hair and pulled him back in, bit his lip gently, smiling with the little gasp it earned him, and kissed him passionate and deep, trying to pour everything he felt for the man into one kiss, in case it was his only chance.

And _damn_ was Reid a good kisser. Sam had expected awkward, messy, inexperienced, but either Reid had a shit ton of experience or he was just that fast of a learner. Sam tangled his fingers in Reid’s hair a little harder than he meant to and found himself gently pressed against the wall, Reid’s fingers exploring his skin from his hairline down.

It was good. It was so good. Dean could walk out right now, and Sam wouldn’t give two shits, and he sure as hell wouldn’t stop.

(But there’s still that little niggling fear.)

Sam let one hand explore Reid’s back, the other still wound in his hair to keep him close. Reid was touching him everywhere -- eyelids, temples, cheeks, jawline --

(But sometimes that fear bubbles up.)

Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight, tensing when Reid’s hand travels down his throat, followed by his lips, and Sam was gasping both in pleasure and

(Sometimes that fear becomes panic.)

Sam shoved Reid away, both of them gasping, Reid’s eyes blown wide in what was possibly shock and definitely desire, and Sam knew he looked much the same.

But he couldn’t do this. The assumptions. The educated guesses. The conclusions. He _can’t_ do this, no matter how much he wants to.

“Reid stop,” Sam panted. “Stop. Please.”

Immediately, Reid’s hands were off him, and he stepped back, giving them about a yard of space. “What is it?” he asked, his voice level but obviously concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Sam pressed himself against the wall to keep himself from sliding down it to the floor. He tried to regulate his breathing, looking down at the floor, but looking down gave him a view he didn’t want. He stared up at the ceiling instead.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Sam said a little pathetically, but he really didn’t care. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have started something I couldn’t finish. I just . . . _God_ , I really want you.”

Reid shivered a little. “You didn’t start anything. I asked if I could kiss you.”

“And I said yes!” Sam snapped.

There was always that fear in the back of Sam’s mind -- at the very front if Dean drags him to a bar or a witness flirts with him or . . . any other sexual situation, Sam supposed -- and he knew, he _knew_ , this would happen.

But he wanted it so much. That’s what he got for being selfish.

He jolted at the hand placed on his shoulder, Reid still standing a good distance away, and almost laughed at the role reversal.

“Sam, please. What’s wrong?” he whispered.

Sam listened. The shower was still running.

“I’m transgender,” he choked out -- quite literally choked, because he felt like he was going to throw up.

“Oh . . . Sam, I know.”

Sam laughed hollowly. “Not like that. Ftm. Female to male. _This_ ,” he gestured vaguely along his body, “is not me.”

“No, Sam, I know. I’ve always known.”

That . . . well, Sam just couldn’t process that. Reid knew? He knew all along and he . . . and he still seemed to want him. The desire was always there, but . . . but Reid was straight, right? He had Maeve, and then he had Sam, who wasn’t feminine per se, but exercising only accentuated her figure and his tits were a fairly good size. He wasn’t afraid to say that he was a gorgeous . . . “woman.” All signs pointed to straight.

“Why the _hell_ didn’t you tell me?” was the first thing out of Sam’s mouth.

“I thought you’d tell me when and if you wanted me to know. It doesn’t seem like you’re out to Dean -- “

“No, I am,” Sam laughed. “But he doesn’t get it. He slips up all the time, and I’ve just stopped correcting him.” Sam let himself slide down the wall, Reid kneeling beside him so they were still eye-level.

“I assume very few people took this as well as I am.”

“You have no idea.” Jess never knew. Madison was a lesbian. Each of his romantic escapades were similar. Until, apparently, now.

“I thought you were straight,” and _wow_ Sam really needed to work on his brain-to-mouth filter.

But Reid just smiled at him. “I prefer not to label my sexuality. But I can assure you, it’s not your . . . physique I’m attracted to. Just you.”

Sam couldn’t help the slow smile that spread across his face. It was still soaking in that Reid didn’t care that he was trans, that he was still attracted to him, that, hell, he knew the entire time and it never once dampened his affection, as far as Sam could tell.

Reid took the towel that was still loosely wrapped around Sam’s head and used it to dry his hair. It was such an odd thing to do, Sam thought, but the oddness in and of itself was very sweet. And surprisingly intimate and domestic. Especially when Reid tossed the towel onto the back of a chair and ran his fingers through Sam’s hair.

That was one of Sam’s many weaknesses. He closed his eyes and shuddered at the feeling of Reid’s fingers lightly scratching his scalp. Sam had to grab Reid’s hand to stop him so he could get his words out right.

“Before we start climbing each other again,” he said with a smirk, “I have a stupid question.”

“There’s no such thing as a stupid question.”

“This one’s pretty stupid. How did you know? I mean, what tipped you off from the very start?”

Reid sat in silence for a minute, letting the hand in Sam’s hair fall to cradle his face. “As a behavioural analyst, there were subtle clues in your body language, the way you interacted with others, how you referred to yourself. . . . But they don’t teach you that in training. I knew what to look for because -- because I’m a transman too.”

Sam’s mouth fell open, but the surprise had barely registered before Reid was looking self-conscious and started talking quickly as if to excuse himself. “I-it’s not something I tell everyone, or, really, anyone. I haven’t even told my team, because I feel like it doesn’t really matter, you know? I transitioned very young, so none of them ever met little me with pig tails and church dresses. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but it never came up and I was kind of waiting for you to tell me first -- “

“Reid!” Sam smiled, turning his head to kiss Reid’s palm. “It’s okay. I get it. You transitioned well. I’m glad you got to do that.”

“You sound jealous.”

Sam swallowed. He wasn’t jealous, just . . . nostalgic? Mournful? He wished he could have transitioned when he was young -- or hell, any time before now -- but he wasn’t jealous that Reid had the resources and the stability to transition. But he was more than a little upset that he was still stuck in this stupid curvy body pushing thirty.

“I’m not,” he said truthfully. “I’m really happy for you.”

“I can help you transition, you know.”

Sam’s breath caught in his chest, and Reid grinned.

“I learned early on that there were ways to cheat the system, so to speak. And all I have to do is call in a favour with Garcia and you’ll have a fake identity and insurance good enough to get you on T, top and bottom surgery, if you want.”

“What?” Sam breathed, because he was sure he wasn’t hearing this right.

They heard the water shut off, and immediately, Sam climbed into a chair, Reid sitting across the small table from him, his back to the bathroom door.

“Just for the record,” he whispered quickly, “I’m attracted to you now, and I still will be whether you choose to transition or not. I’m just letting you know that you have the option. And -- and I’ll be there through it all, because it really can be difficult -- “

The door swung open, and Reid cut himself off.

“Sudokus can be really difficult?” Sam said incredulously. Reid shot him a thankful look that Dean couldn’t see.

“Really? _Sudokus_ are your downfall?”

Reid shrugged and went along with it. “They’re not my _downfall_ , I just find them more difficult than other activities.”

“I’m with you there,” Sam agreed, returning Reid’s thankful look with a knowing one. “I love sudokus, but sometimes it just takes a while to fit it all together.”

Sam knew he had a lot in common with Spencer Reid, sudokus notwithstanding. He wondered what the odds were that two transmen would meet and . . . what? Where they a thing now? Could Sam safely call Reid his boyfriend?

“We should get going,” Reid declared, standing and offering his hand to Sam. He took it, thinking Reid was just helping him up, but was pleasantly surprised when he wove their fingers together with a small, understanding smile and led the way out.

They had plenty of time to talk while they walked.


End file.
